In return, the
superintendent mentioned the notice he had taken of those two
strangers, his attempt to induce the woman to go to the mothers'
class, her restlessness and the child's lassitude.
The smart young man stood close by, receiving the correct version of
the affair, and holding his tuning-fork and book behind him; and all
the children, following their elders, flocked to seats around Mrs.
Tracy, gazing over one another's shoulders, until she looked up
abashed at the chaos her excitement had made.
"It's really your child?" said Grandma Padgett, sitting down beside
the mother with a satisfied and benevolent expression.
"Oh, indeed, yes! Don't you know mamma, darling?"
For reply, the little girl was clinging mutely to her mother's neck.
Her curls were damp and her eyes very dark-ringed. But there was
recognition in her face very different from the puzzled and crouching
obedience she had yielded to the one who claimed her before.
"They've been dosing her again," pronounced Grandma Padgett severely.
"And she's all beat out tramping, poor little thing!" said one of
the neighborhood mothers. "Look at them dusty feet!"
Mrs. Tracy gathered the dusty feet into her lap and wiped them with
her lace handkerchief.
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